Creation Myths
I was born in late May, the rhododendron still in full fushia bloom and being craddled in arms every where upward bright sloshes of green across a blue sky-- the oak, the dogwood, the tulip poplar, the holly, the pine andthe japanese red maple tossing upward its own incongruent deep maron. I was born in the garden. I knew I had sinned by the time I was four, the nursery aids returning me to my mother to be disciplined, though I don't remember being punished. I had inherited her ornery-ness. I remember standing on a bench. Climbing a net. the scent of salt in the air at the ocean. I remember the first time my truth wasn't believed, something simple a doll's lips being painted pink then red and my sister's denial. the stubborn seed rooting in me, that as a three year old, I would hold this memory like a closed fist, I would remember that I was right whether anyone believed me or not. I remember rocks. hopping upstream. building dams. catching crawfish. sw...